


Welcome Home

by wordywarrior



Series: "What's Your Fantasy?" Series [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Captain America - Freeform, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Non-Graphic Smut, Steve Rogers Feels, steve rogers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-04 16:38:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17901704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordywarrior/pseuds/wordywarrior
Summary: Part 5 of a series entitled, “What’s Your Fantasy?”





	Welcome Home

**Author's Note:**

> Part 5 of a series entitled, “What’s Your Fantasy?”

 

[ ](https://imgur.com/udoWHz8)

 

 

An open window letting in the night air. Cool breeze, causing the curtains and the sheets to flutter. The rustle of leaves on trees and the scent of petrichor as the first droplets began to descend. The sky opened up wide, but there were no stars to provide guidance, just a constant contrast of light and dark, with rolling thunder breaking in between.

Rain descended and tap-danced on the roof; what began as a rhythmic lull quickly morphed into an incessant pounding. A raging, harsh clap and a bright flash had woken you up, temping you from the bed to the window. You watched for a good ten minutes before the whisper of your name caught your attention.

“Come ‘ere.”

The deep, raspy voice was just as commanding, but unlike the storm, impossible to ignore.

As soon as you turned to face him, there was another flash, and the blankets were tossed back. Steve occupied the center of the mattress, naked and sprawled across the cotton and feathers. Even smattered with bruises and cuts, he was glorious from head-to-toe, and if his body and words had not been invitation enough, he followed up with action; another flicker of light revealed a crook of a finger, and your strings were pulled.

Blankets shifted again and he sat up just as you arrived at the side of the bed. When it came to him, you were just as uncontrolled as the storm. Touching was a compulsion, and the moment your fingers carded through his hair, he leaned into you, and buried his face in your stomach.

Steve sighed and you knew it was with relief and when he spoke, his words were low and sleepy. Murmurings of how the pillow case you’d packed for him, the one that smelled like you, got him through the worst of it. How seeing and hearing you over the phone made it better and worse at the same time. The way the cookies in the care package tasted. The feel of being in your arms now, safe, even if not wholly sound.

There had been a welcome home planned; lingerie, dinner, sex – though not necessarily in that order – but when you arrived back at the house, his boots and bag were by the door, which meant he’d gotten back earlier than intended. You found him in bed, brow furrowed and burrowed in deep, and you only had to glance at him to know he needed to rest. You let him sleep and didn’t even wake him when you’d climbed in beside him hours later.

Fingertips that had not touched your skin in so, so long grazed over the backs of your thighs. No matter how long the separation, Steve’s touch never changed; it was maddeningly exploratory, but it wasn’t at all hesitant. If anything, it was a refamiliarization, as if his hands were seeking to refresh his memory of what it felt like to set your skin ablaze. The saying ‘keep the home fires burning’ had never been more appropriate, and the more he sought, the hotter you became.

Up your shirt and over your breasts. Across your stomach. Dipping and teasing between your legs. Heightening your arousal and bringing you to the edge until you were shaking.

The next roll of thunder was so powerful, it rattled the windows, and when you cried out his name, the sound that exploded from his chest rivaled it. Steve stripped you naked, swallowed your sounds of urgency with his mouth, and swept you up off the floor.

He made you dizzy with deep, drugging kisses that swelled your heart and lips, and as soon as Steve settled you over his lap, he guided you down onto him, and filled you to the brim. He anchored you there, holding you by the hips to keep you still. Throbbing and aching, you gripped his shoulders, and whimpered pleadingly.

“Shh,” he breathed against your lips. “Just let me feel you. I need to feel you.”

The combination of intense sensation and the reverence in his voice made you shudder.

His lips were gentle as they moved along the column of your throat, and after another deep, soul-stealing kiss, he deliberately fell back against the mattress. Steve whispered for you to go slowly. To take your time. Allow him to watch.

Like the rain wiped away and cleansed, he wanted to feel the same. He wanted you to chase away all he’d seen and everything he’d done.

It was his way of asking you to make love to him.

Unhurried, but no less passionate, you began to move, and he moved with you. You achieved satisfaction again and again, each release giving way to the next, a gradual rise before a gentle fall. When Steve eventually had you beneath him, you were trembling, and so was he.

“I love you,” he breathed, punctuating his words with a roll of his hips.

You lifted your head from the pillow and brushed your mouth against his, “And I love you.”

As if the words were all he’d needed to hear, Steve allowed himself to let go, and he finished with your name falling from his lips. Legs wrapped around his hips and hands splayed over his back, you reveled in the warmth of his weight.

Steve mumbled incoherently before moving to lay down beside you. With his arm draped over your waist and your legs tangled together, you both gazed out the window. The rain was falling gentler now, but when a huff of chilled wind hit the bed, Steve pulled the blankets around you both, and snuggled in deeper. When the storm finally passed and everything stilled, he let out a contented noise, and kissed your shoulder.

Smiling and sleepy, you turned into his arms, and held him tight, “Welcome home.”


End file.
